Forging Regrets
FtF I FtF
The HoloNet reports sounded overly loud in the stillness of the nightshade side of Gargon, reminding Doran once again that there was a greater galaxy outside the small pocket of Mandalorian space. Reminding him that he was truly fortunate his parents had been in a position to drop him off at Gargon while billions of other kids just like him were either dead or crammed into refugee ships after watching their entire lives burn before them.
Taris, the planet he had fled to during his brief moment of angst-filled doubt over his friends' sanity, had been utterly ravaged by a Yuuzhan Vong fleet only a week after he had left it. Doran couldn't help but wonder if the attack had been planned all along, or if it had been retaliation after the Peace Brigade and Yuuzhan Vong infiltrator force had been killed. Either way, the Yuuzhan Vong had taken the system and turned the once vibrant planet of almost eight billion into a graveyard.
Taris hadn't been the first, and it certainly wasn't the last planet to fall. Since his return to Gargon, Skorrupon, Corsin, Ploo, and even the important data-filled system of Obroa-skai had all been taken, one after the other. The New Republic appeared to be completely helpless against the onslaught of the foreign war-machine. Even the 'victories' they had achieved at Ord Mantell and Bilbringi seemed to pale in comparison. One system after another was lost, seemingly by the day. New Republic casualties and the number of displaced people were rising as the Senate and the New Republic armed forces floundered about.
The situation didn't just look bad or sound bad, Doran severely doubted that the New Republic would even be able to hold Coruscant if the Yuuzhan Vong made a push for it. And then what would happen to the New Republic? What would happen to the Jedi?
Doran exhaled slowly, closing his eyes and reaching out for his mother. He knew that while he was learning how to be a rough and tumble Mandalorian, she and his father were out doing their best to slow the onslaught. Right out on the frontlines where the casualties were highest. Where Peace Brigade and Yuuzhan Vong sympathizers would jump at the chance to turn in a 'not officially or completely trained' Jedi. Where Yuuzhan Vong infiltrators were in perfect position to counter any New Republic intelligence units, no matter how elite those units were.
"Shut it off, kid."
Doran started at the sound of one of the Ori'ramikade instructors and reflexively followed the order. When the droning voice listing the latest damages died mid-sentence, Doran stared back at the holo-unit. "It's bad out there."
"It is," the dark-haired Mandalorian commando agreed in his usual deep voice. "But listening to how bad it is isn't going to change a damned thing. You and your friends are here to learn how to be jatnese be te jatnsee, the best of the best. That way, when you're ready and won't get yourselves killed right away, you can go out there and put an end to the problems those politicians have let run amuck. And it's my job to make sure you do it right the first time, so get off your shebs. We have a five kilometer run to do, and then the obstacle course."
Doran stood, picking up his rock-laden sack from where it had been. The cool air of Gargon's nightshade-side immediately washed over him; the meager fire he had been sitting next to didn't extend its heat or light far enough. Not that there was a ready supply of fuel available to make it any bigger. "Do you have family or friends out there, fighting?"
The commando tilted his head in affirmative as they began to jog across the glassy ground. "All of Clan Onyo is serving Mand'alor. We're spread out across several different sectors at the moment, playing the role Mand'alor wants them to play. My aunt Ketsu is personally overseeing a campaign on behalf of the Vongese, and my younger brother is part of Mand'alor's personal guard unit."
"And you're here, babysitting me and my friends."
The large man shook his head. "There's no greater honor, kid, than teaching the next generation to continue what we've started. Your mistakes are mine, and if you die, it's on me. As much fun as being out there blasting whoever it is Mand'alor needs blasting might be, it's double that knowing that I've just helped trained a unit that'll be blasting enemies of Manda'yaim right alongside me. Vatok would say the same thing."
"I'm not sure I want to be blasting enemies next to any Mandalorians," Doran said with a small smile. "Your armor tends to signal to the other side 'I'm a tough guy, just try and kill me.' Especially if you're wearing bright red or yellow."
"I see it more like, 'I'm a tough guy, get out of my way or you'd regret it."
"And if you're facing another tough guy, he'll want to prove that he's tougher."
"No one's tougher than the Or'ramikade."
"Exactly, I'm not one. So if I'm blasting tough guys next to a whamo-blamo-commando and the tough guys realize I'm not one, guess who they'll be shooting at first?"
"I'm fine with that. It lets the rest of us pick them off."
"You have absolutely no problem with me being a target?"
"By then, I'll have trained you well enough so you can be a target and not die."
"Great."
"I hope."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Doran's breathing grew slightly labored as they began to ascend one of the many mountainous inclines of glassed rock. "Do you think the New Republic will last the year?"
"Not if the Jedi keep sitting on their hands," the Mandalorian answered back. "The Vongese aren't exactly the most efficient of warriors, but they are definitely deadly."
"What do you mean by efficient?"
"My brother's team has the task of analyzing the Vongese from a tactical standpoint. He tells me that the Vongese will throw wave after wave of soldiers at a hardened target, but as long as the target falls, they see it as a victory. The galaxy is a huge place, and if the Vongese keep throwing lives away, they're going to need a lot of time to replace those losses so they can hold what they conquer. The more time they take, the more likely it is that the New Republic, Jedi, or Empire will find a way to beat them."
"In the meantime, that tactic is taking out veteran soldiers, toppling governments, and getting a lot of people killed. The more time they take, the more lives they ruin."
"True, but it goes back to my earlier point. If, by the time Vatok and I are done with you and your friends, the big governments in the galaxy still haven't figured the Vongese out, it'll be your time to step up. Eventually someone will figure out a weakness and the Vongese will fall really quickly after that."
"Just like that?" Doran stopped, panting with his hands on his knees at the top of the summit.
"Again, this is just what my brother is seeing, but the Vongese in one system pretty much fights the same way as the Vongese on the opposite side of the galaxy. They're one race with a set number of tactics. If Thrawn were still alive and kicking, he'd have handed those Vongese their shebse the moment he understood their culture. If someone else reaches that same conclusion, the Vongese won't be able to adapt in time to make a difference."
"Your brother's team sure has them figured out then."
"Mand'alor is playing the long game. Learning about the enemy without ever showing them our hand. The more we learn, the more damage we can inflict when the time comes."
"Double-crossing the Yuuzhan Vong seems…I was going to say 'crazy', but it's actually exactly what you super-commandos would do."
"Exactly. Now, let's pick up the pace this time," the instructor gestured towards the rest of the route. "I want you to beat Skirata and Jeban's time so Vatok can stop gloating about how you came in third in last week's survival challenge."
Doran groaned. "If I know one thing, I'm definitely going to have a really good sleep tonight."
Even as he began to jog again, Doran couldn't help but feel as if he had just jinxed himself.
I-I-I-I-I
Doran awoke in a cold sweat, jerking to a seated position, panting heavily as the Force-vision he had just had stirred up a deep sense of panic and fear. His stomach churned and his heart pounded in his chest, the beat audible even to his ears. Darkness, anger, betrayal, an unseen enemy. He emerged from the sleeping bag and used the Force to keep his exit unnoticed by those within the camp.
Trying to recall the vision was proving a lot more difficult than usual. He would have passed it off as being out of practice and out of touch because of all his Mandalorian training, but he didn't think that was the issue. Pausing in his aimless trek out of the camp, he spotted something off in the distance. Their lack of presence in the Force immediately identified the fast approaching figures as Yuuzhan Vong.
The garbled vision suddenly made sense. If the Yuuzhan Vong existed outside of the Force, then having the Force warn him about them was the same as trying to describe a color to a blind person; you could do it abstractly, impart a basic idea, but a full picture would be impossible.
The droning sound of Yuuzhan Vong fightercraft filled the air. Doran looked up just in time to see a trio of coralskippers streak through the darkened sky. As he did, the images he had seen in his vision solidified for a moment. Fire, burning, death. Formless shadows rising out of the ground and dragging him under. A void of a world where the Force was absent. His friends all on the ground around him, their eyes glazed and lifeless. He glanced down at his hands, they were stained with blood. Rain began to fall, but it was not water that fell from the cloudless skies. The sticky red liquid fell upon his bare torso, the very unwelcome scent of death being blown in on an ill wind.
Doran shuddered violently, the vision once again receding. More Yuuzhan Vong vessels became visible, circling the skies. Their compatriots on the ground spotted Doran standing on the outcropping and several cries went up. Their pace towards his location was tripled, clouds of dust rising in the air from the hoof-falls of their mounts. Throughout it all, the thirteen year old Jedi watched with a strange sense of detachment, as if he was still dreaming.
He felt panic rise up from somewhere behind him and grimaced. Dinua had awoken and discovered his absence. By the time he turned his attention back towards the approaching Yuuzhan Vong, they were nearly on him. Their lead mounted warrior wielded some type of club, and the moment he got into range, proceeded to knock Doran unconscious with it.
When Doran next woke, he was once again back at the camp, his hands and feet immobilized by some sort of stinging jelly. Woozily, he took stock of his situation as the campfire crackled merrily in the darkness. A ring of Yuuzhan Vong warriors surrounded the camp, their weapons fully deployed. The others were still alive, but bound like he was. When he made eye-contact with Dinua and she realized he was awake, she visibly relaxed. Then tensed up again as a very ugly Yuuzhan Vong warrior arrived and dismounted.
"Infidels," the warrior sneered. "You claim to be allies, yet you hide a Jeedai amongst you. Just like on New Holgha, you show your true loyalties. It is clear the Mandalorians on New Holgha were no 'rogue group,' like your leader proclaimed. Jeedai, speak up now, you can hide no longer. "
Doran felt his heart drop out of his chest and struggled not to react to that proclamation. The other Mandalorians likewise stayed silent.
"I will make it easy for you, Jeedai. You will surrender yourself now or I will slit the throats of each of your companions until you do."
To Doran's great confusion, the warrior had stopped in front of Dinua and appeared to be addressing her.
"I am no Jedi," Dinua answered firmly, her own bewilderment apparent.
The warrior lifted Dinua up in the air by her neck, the Mandalorian teen gasping for air as he tightened his grip. "Do not lie to me, Hera Wren. When the voxyn arrive, the truth will come out."
"Put her down!" Jintar shouted, earning an amphistaff clubbing for his outburst.
Doran, seeing that Dinua was fast running out of air, panicked. "She's not Hera! She's telling the truth!"
The warrior tilted a now red-faced Dinua side to side, as if examining her. Then glared down at Doran. "You lie."
"No! Never! She can prove it to you! Have her contact Commander Bevin. He'll vouch for her," Doran spoke frantically, Dinua's eyes threatening to roll back into her skull as the warrior kept his grip.
"If she is not Hera Wren, then why are you out here so far away from your base?" the warrior barked.
"We're one of two training groups trying to join the elite Mandalorian warriors. Hera's group is the other one!"
The warrior glanced to a nearly unconscious Dinua, sneered, and hurled her roughly to the ground. Dinua let out several raspy gasps as her lungs greedily sucked in air. But then that air was expelled from her as the warrior kicked her in the stomach, sending her sliding across the ground. Dinua curled up in a fetal position on reflex, trying to breathe and whimper in pain at the same time. "Perhaps you are right. No Jeedai could possibly be this weak."
Though Doran could tell through the Force that Dinua was only half-acting, she was also half not-acting. The partially hardened jelly around his hands and legs, however, kept him from going to her. He silently willed Dinua to stay down. The last thing he wanted was for her warrior mentality to kick in and get her killed.
Of course the last thing he wanted was to be killed either. The Yuuzhan Vong warrior gripped him by his hair and yanked his head back to expose his neck.
"Last chance Jeedai," the warrior snarled at the still recovering Dinua. "Admit the truth and I will not slit his throat."
"I'm not a Jedi," Dinua wheezed, shaking her head frantically.
Doran grimaced as the living knife the Yuuzhan Vong warrior held began to break the skin.
"I'm not!" Dinua yelled hoarsely, trying to crawl towards them with her jelly-fied hands and legs. Another Yuuzhan Vong put his foot on her back, holding her in place even as she writhed to get free. Her head jerked back up, and Doran saw genuine fear and desperation in her eyes. "Don't! I don't know how else to prove it! I'm not a Jedi!"
"I warned you."
"No!"
Just as Doran began to feel an increase in pressure, another Yuuzhan Vong emerged from the shadows surrounding the camp.
"Sub-Altern! We have her!"
Never had Doran been more grateful for a Yuuzhan Vong flunky than that moment. The ugly group leader threw Doran to the ground and turned his attention to the new arrival. "The Jeedai Hera Wren?"
"Yes, Sub-Altern! The Stalking Death detected their life-signs in a camp far from here. They have just relayed that the Jeedai is their prisoner."
"Were there any Mandalorians working in concert with her?"
"No, Sub-Altern, the Jeedai was alone."
"And it was confirmed she was a Jeedai?"
"Yes, she was wearing a special collar that prevented the voxyn from sensing her. Once the collar was removed, the voxyn confirmed the report given to us by our Mandalorian allies."
"Very well," the group leader said with a toothy grin. "Sub-Commander Lah will be most pleased."
"Sub-Altern, what do you want us to do to this group?"
"Wait until the second voxyn team gets here just to be safe. If one of them happens to be a Jeedai, bring the Jeedai to me and kill the rest. Even if there are no Jeedai, well, we hardly want to anger our allies now, would we?"
"As you command."
The sub-altern left with a good portion of his men, leaving only three of his warriors to guard the prisoners. There was a still bewildered Doran, an unconscious Jintar, a pale Dinua with a Yuuzhan Vong still pinning her to the ground, and their two Ori'ramikade trainers. All were immobilized by the jelly, completely disarmed as well. The warriors guarding them were in full combat gear, including a clam-shell like helmet, and staff-mode amphistaffs. Things definitely did not look good.
Doran knew that if there was any way he was going to save the others, he had to act fast. Though still very confused on what was happening, panic was the furthest thing from his mind. When the sub-altern's shuttle analogue shot off into the darkened Gorgon sky, he acted.
He pretended to faint, falling to the ground and going still. The Yuuzhan Vong warriors all made sounds of contempt, with one even going so far as to grab Doran's head to check if he was awake or not. The thirteen year old relied on the Force to keep him from reacting as the same warrior gave him a kick for good measure. When Doran was allowed to flop back down on the ground again, he stretched out with his senses. Taking in deep breaths, he focused on the ground around him, on the Force resonating through every rock and living thing on the mined-out world. And stretching out his will, he took action.
The nightshade side of the planet was infamous for its razor-sharp ground. Doran, Dinua, and Jintar had spent the last two weeks crafting their own spears, knives, and arrow-tips from said ground. This meant that there was a very sizable 'discard' pile made up of their failures and chipped-off shards. Even imperfect, razor-sharp rock flying through the air was a health-hazard. Though the Yuuzhan Vong armor protected their torso, limbs, and head, the joints had to remain uncovered for maneuverability purposes.
One second the three warriors were mocking their captives. The next, like a swarm of angry hornets, the debris pile of glassed ground was zipping through the air, guided by the Force. At first the warriors weren't even aware of what was happening, the cuts so fine that they weren't registering. But then they began to lose feeling in their extremities. The warrior in command of the other two had the misfortune of receiving a cast-off knife shard strike his throat. The warrior emitted a gurgling sound, clutching at the wounded area as he sank to his knees. The other two lifted their amphistaffs and tried to yell out a warning. Only it was too late. The whirlwind of micro-shards swirling around them weren't just cutting, but were also entering their bodies through said cuts.
Doran might not have been able to affect the Yuuzhan Vong with the Force, but razor sharp glass-like rocks were another story altogether. Both surviving warriors had the misfortune to be diced apart from the inside out as the swarm of fragments dove in one after another into every open wound. The entire ordeal lasted mere seconds, the deaths painful but also near instantaneous.
Doran then directed the swarm to slice away the jelly holding his hands and legs together. Once his limbs were freed, the various pebbles, shards, and unfinished blades fell to the ground without a sound. He did his best not to think about the fact that he had just used the Force to kill. Tried to tell himself that it had been a kill-or-be-killed situation. But the Jedi in him wanted to argue that vigorously. The Mando he was pretending to be, however, pointed out that they were currently on a Mando world and that he and his friends were now alive. The Jedi in him became harder to hear after that.
"Nice work, ad," Vatok Tawr, the other Or'ramikade trainer voiced in appreciation.
"Thanks," Doran returned.
The trainer from Clan Onyo gestured towards Doran's throat. "Kid, you might want to get your neck looked at. It's bleeding pretty heavily."
"Oh, thought it was my overuse of the Force," Doran grumbled, reaching up to his neck. When he glanced at his hand it was completely soaked. "No wonder why I'm so dizzy."
"Di'kut will you get a bandage on that!" Dinua glowered.
"Let me free you guys first."
"Bandage, first. If you bleed out because you were freeing us I'll…I'll…"
"You'll what?"
"Remember you as the worst Mandalorian ever," Dinua finished with a huff.
"Okay, can't have that," Doran smiled faintly. He noted that all of their meager belonging had been thoroughly searched and left scattered around the camp's perimeter. "But I really do need to get you guys loose. I have no idea when the next Vong group will get here and I really don't want to be here when they do. I guess I'll do what you always tell me to do and K'atini."
"You're listening to my advice now?" Dinua groaned in exasperation. "Bleeding from a serious throat wound is no time to 'suck it up'! That's like saying 'I'm fine' after getting a blaster-bolt to the head!"
Doran rummaged through the dead warriors' belongings before finding the pouch with the jelly-scattering salts. He sprinkled it on the Or'ramikade first, figuring a pair of Mandalorian commandos covering them would help speed things along. He then went over to free a just-coming-around Jintar.
"What'd I miss?" He said groggily, showing all the signs of someone who had been whack on the head really, really hard.
"The Di'kut is bleeding out through a neck wound!" Dinua hissed out. "And he's left freeing me to last!"
"If he dies, at least you won't have to kill him," Jintar replied, still slightly out of it.
"Kid, I'll free your girlfriend," Clan Onyo's trainer said, placing a large hand on Doran's shoulder. "You really need to get that wound looked at. Do one of your healing trances or something."
"Not my girlfriend," Doran slurred, the adrenaline wearing off. He saw the wisdom in the commando's words, however, and staggered drunkenly over to the med-kit. Apparently he was slower than he thought he was, because as he fumbled for the kit's clasp to open it, Dinua knocked his hand away and more or less yanked the lid right off. She then injected a coagulant into him, while simultaneously using her teeth to rip open a pack of bacta wrap.
"Di'kut," Dinua scolded darkly, pressing the wrap to his wound. "Mind telling me why the Vongese had to drag your sorry rear back to camp?"
"Felt danger in the Force," Doran said, still feeling slightly dizzy. "Wasn't sure what it was about."
"So you went off on your own?"
Doran might have been out of it, but he wasn't so out of it as to miss the warning note in Dinua's voice. "I…was getting fresh air to think about the vision."
Dinua exhaled and rested her forehead against his. "You're a terrible liar."
"I'll work on it."
"Sorry to interrupt the love-fest, kids," Vatok butted in. "But the Vongese are approaching. Considering the ad just sliced and diced their buddies, we probably don't want to be here."
"Let's move out," Dinua agreed, stepping away from Doran and picking up a blaster from their scattered supplies. "Jintar, think you can support the Di'kut?"
"Wouldn't be the first time." Jintar looped one of Doran's arms over his shoulders and took on most of Doran's weight. "Not sure how your Jedi healing thing works, but try to do what you can, Doran. I doubt we're going to have much rest in the near future."
FtF II FtF
Doran had never had reason to imbibe any of the various mind-altering substances in the galaxy before, or even think about trying it. For one, his mom would probably throw him out the airlock no matter how 'cool' she was. For another, he just didn't see the appeal. And now, as he sat in deep meditation trying to repair the tissues in his neck, he had yet another reason. Who needed mind-altering substances if the Force was capable of doing just that without any warning?
As in tune with the Force as he was, the vision or whatever it is the Force had shown him earlier returned full…well, force. Doran found himself being dragged across a pit of blackness, and he blearily looked to the pair of large shadows holding his legs. He wanted to panic, to try to pull free, but for some reason couldn't summon the strength to do so. All around him was an impenetrable darkness, yet a source of light somehow illuminated the shadows in a glowing haze. Whispers in an alien tongue sounded all around, more shadowy figures joining the two pulling him across the void. The words were mostly unintelligible to Doran's ears, but one word stood out amongst the rest. A word repeated over and over again, growing in volume.
Jeedai
Jeedai!
JEEDAI!
JEEDAI!
He felt his body lifted up and placed into a soft, squishy chair-like shadow. Something was lowered down onto his head. And then excruciating pain rippled through him. Through it all, he could have sworn he heard the howl of a wolf echoing in the background.
Doran let out a yell, the vision breaking as he toppled out of the bunk he had been seat on. Without even needing to try, he knew immediately that he had had a vision of a different sort. A vision made possible because of his Force-bond with one Hera Wren. There couldn't have been any other reason. It wasn't like he'd ever been a prisoner of the Yuuzhan Vong, or would be one for that matter. So the only explanation was that he had just seen and felt what Hera was experiencing. He continued to lie on his back, gasping for air, trying to re-establish the link to send what little support he could. But the link remained closed off completely, as if it never been opened in the first place. The only thing his efforts accomplished was to make him dizzier.
Hurried footsteps across a metal deck, and the door to his room flew open.
"Doran!"
Doran weakly grabbed at the bunk and pulled himself into a seated position against it. Cool, calloused hands found his face, a curse emitting from the owner of said hands.
"You're burning up! I'll get some ice and…"
"No, it's okay, Dinua," Doran rasped, grabbing one of her hands as she rose to leave.
"Doran…"
"It's okay…the Force does this sometimes," Doran tried to smile reassuringly at the shaken Mandalorian teen.
"'Sometimes'? You've been with Skirata and I for close to eight months now. This is the first time I've ever seen you like this."
"Okay, it doesn't happen often."
"How often has it happened to you?"
"Fine, it almost never happens," Doran blindly groped for his shirt on the bed and pulled it on. "Can't you just accept my first expert Jedi-opinion on things Force related instead of questioning them?"
His tone of mock-hurt seemed to relax the older teen, who smiled faintly in turn. "If you're as good a Jedi as you are Mandalorian, definitely not."
Doran chuckled ruefully. "Maybe you have a point."
"Of course I have a point. I know you too well, Di'kut."
"You're just scouting out a potential enemy and trying to learn my weaknesses."
Dinua nodded and plopped down on the deck to sit next to him. "I am a Mandalorian. I have a reputation to uphold after all."
"There are probably generations of Mandalorians sighing in relief as they now realize that you were just getting closer to me to kill me later. Can't have Jedi and Mandalorians getting along after all."
"And what about your generations of Jedi? Don't they float around as disembodied spirits after they pass on?"
"Only the strongest of us do," Doran shook his head. "And the dark Jedi are more likely to do so more than the light ones."
"The dark ones are stronger?"
"Their will to live and be immortal is. And I wouldn't worry about the light-side guys getting mad at me. I'm befriending you in an attempt to turn you away from a path of death and destruction."
"Of course you are," Dinua emitted a small laugh and let her head lean against his shoulder.
"Speaking of paths, where are we? I kind of zoned out after Jintar told me to fix up my neck."
"On the escape ship the Ori'ramikade had hidden at Rook's old base," Dinua answered. "We managed to avoid the roving Vongese patrols and are now headed to an Ori'ramikade waystation to regroup."
"Your dads going to be in any trouble?"
"The Vongese didn't identify me. Will probably more interested in Commander Wren anyways."
Doran froze at that, the memory of what had happened in the camp returning. He then remembered that he had used the Force to kill. It seemed ridiculous that with everything going on, his mind decided to focus on that. A part of him knew that it had been necessary. That same part argued that he had nothing to feel guilty about. Some of the Force sects his mom had taken him to even viewed the Force as a tool to be wielded. But he had also seen the result of the dark side firsthand in the millennia-old ruins of the ancient Sith Empire. Had met Force sects that seemed a shade darker than any accepted Jedi would permit, and even learned of the 'solution' these sects employed if someone slipped a bit too far.
Sure he and his friends might have all been offed. But he had killed with the Force. His stomach churned at the thought. The difference between killing someone with a blaster, rocket, or lightsaber and killing someone with the Force was subtle. Those incapable of using the Force would never know or feel it. When one killed with the Force, one was extending a portion of their own will, of their own self, outwards to rob another of life. His Force-presence had infused those small shards of rock that had sliced and eviscerated the Yuuzhan Vong warriors. A part of him had literally ravaged the insides of those warriors and torn them asunder. The only saving grace was that he hadn't felt the deaths of the warriors through the Force. His stomach churned again at that thought. That was a saving grace?
Doran abruptly stood and staggered over to the refresher, barely making it to the toilet in time to throw up what little there was in his stomach. His efforts soon became dry heaves, as if his body was trying to expel the part of it that had been involved in those deaths. He had heard the saying from veterans that killing another figuratively took something from you. Killing with the Force literally did just that. There was a reason why the most devout dark siders all looked like emaciated, virus-stricken, yellow-eyed, sunless corpses after all.
He glanced up at the refresher mirror over the sink and almost in a panic, rushed to it, gripping its sides. He nearly sobbed with relief when he saw none of the usual indicators that the dark side had its hold over him. In the reflection he could see Dinua had gotten to her feet and was now looking at him worriedly once more.
"Sorry again, more Jedi drama," Doran said faintly, this time unable to muster a smile.
"What's on your mind? And don't say 'nothing,'" Dinua said, her eyes narrowed.
"Jedi aren't supposed to kill with the Force. It's a big, big no no," Doran took a moment to wash his mouth out. He waited for the very Mandalorian response from Dinua about Jedi being soft or idiotic for not using a weapon at their disposal. What he got instead, caused him to raise his eyebrows in surprise.
"Why?"
"'Why' what?"
"Why do Jedi fear using the Force to kill?"
"Not fear," Doran shook his head. He splashed water on his face and then accepted the towel Dinua held out for him. "Think of it more like…respect. This is going to be a terrible analogy, but say you had a pet, a very smart pet, and had it since you were born. This pet can fetch things for you, help tell you if someone is a good guy or not, more or less keeps you happy and comforts you when you're not. You've known this pet your entire life, it's like as much a part of you as a hand or foot. Then, one day you decide that you suddenly want your pet to do more. Suddenly you decide, because the pet listens to whatever you say, will do anything you want to please you, you decide to use it to commit a crime. It might be a small thing at first, maybe use it to fetch something that belongs to your neighbor. It works and you realize that this opens up a whole new set of opportunities for you. The pet doesn't know what it's doing is wrong, only that you told it to do something and was happy that it did it. It'll even encourage you to order it to do similar things because it's what makes you happy. But then one day your neighbor realizes what you did. You get annoyed, you have this power over others and it's benefitting you greatly, why should you care what your neighbor does. Your pet's been doing increasingly illegal things at your bidding so you figure to up the ante again. You order your pet to tear out your neighbor's throat. It does, simply because you told it to. By that point you no longer think of your pet as a living, breathing creature. You just see it as something to use to empower yourself."
"I still don't see how that's different than picking up a blaster or vibrosword and doing the exact same thing."
"I know, I said it was a terrible analogy," Doran exhaled noisily and stared at his reflection. "The Force for those who can tap into it is like a part of who we are. How we use it defines our very being. We use it to murder, to dominate and rule others, and it'll start to show. We'll start to care only about ourselves, about the power available to us, and lose the ability to empathize. You kill a bunch of people with a blaster, unless you start announcing it to the galaxy, no one will know. You kill a bunch of people with the Force, it'll start to show in how you act and how you look. I wish there was some easy way to explain this to you without going dark myself. I guess, to put it in Mando terms, there's a reason why you have a word for Jedi and that the equivalent for dark Jedi literally translates into 'not Jedi'."
"So…you killing those warriors, it will change you somehow?"
"Not sure," Doran shrugged helplessly. "Maybe it won't because the Vong don't seem to exist in the Force. I don't know. Not even the Jedi Council knows all there is to know about the Force."
"If you start becoming dar'jetti like, I'll let you know," Dinua rubbed his back.
"Provided I don't stab you with my lightsaber or snap your neck for doing it, sure," Doran tried to joke.
Dinua's eyebrows shot up. "You would kill me?"
"If I'm so far gone that you notice it, more than likely," Doran nodded. "It'll mean that I stopped caring enough to hide it and that everyone should bow before my fearsome power."
"So becoming a dar'jetti means you become delusional?"
"In a nutshell, yup."
"That's a big problem. I won't even be able to tell the difference then."
"Hey!"
"You care too much to go dark, Di'kut," Dinua said fondly.
"I definitely hope you're right," Doran stepped away from the sink and his arms encircled Dinua's slender waist.
"Of course I am." Dinua tilted her head back slightly as he lowered his.
And then the intercom blared as the entire ship shuddered. "All passengers, strap in. We were just pulled out of hyperspace by a Vongese mine. Skirata, Jeban, mind getting the turrets?"
Doran reluctantly released Dinua, who in turn smiled wanly before giving his shoulder a squeeze and leaving the room. Doran watched her leave, and then tiredly turned his gaze back to the mirror.
When he did, he nearly leaped out of his skin as he fell backwards onto his rear end. Staring out of the mirror was a moon-white wolf, eyes glittering intelligently.
Lothal
Doran reached out with the Force, ignoring the fact that the ship he was in was now shuddering from repeated plasma fire. Time itself slowed, sound becoming muted, the ship falling away around him. "What?"
Lothal the wolf-like creature growled, seemingly emerging from the mirror to appear in his refresher.
"I don't understand." Doran cautiously returned to his feet, reaching a careful hand out to the creature. He had met more than a few Force-sensitive creatures—birds, deer, fish, trees—in his journey, and knew that he could now add Force-sensitive refresher-mirror wolves to that list. "Tell me what you want."
Lothal
The ship rocked violently once more, the lights in his room going out. When they came back on, the wolf was gone and everything was normal again.
"Thanks a lot!" Doran yelled out to the empty room, projecting his annoyance at the Force. "Can't you do something else besides teach those strong in you how to speak cryptically?"
The ship shook again and Doran was knocked back down onto his butt.
"Oh real mature," Doran scolded the Force with a groan. "There are other Jedi you could have gone to you know."
A pulsing warning in the Force, and Doran dove out of his room and slammed the panel that controlled the mag-sealed door. A split second later, a plasma blast completely incinerated his room and everything that had been in it.
"Fine! I'll do it!" Doran huffed in exasperation, sprawled out in the hallway. "Whatever it is you want me to do anyways."
"You okay, kid?" One of the Ori'ramikade asked from further down the hall.
"Just having a dispute with the Force," Doran dusted himself off and stood. "It won like usual."
"Think the Force can get us out of this mess then? With the Vongese on our tail, we don't want to lead them to the waypoint."
Doran staggered as the ship was violently jolted again. "Where are we?"
"Somewhere between the D'Astan sector and Lothal Sector at the moment. A Vongese picketship and a squad of their fighters were waiting at the hyperspace junction connecting the Celanon Spur to the Outer Rim Trade Route. We were trying to reach Ibanjji. Can't go there now, obviously."
"Wait, rewind. The D'Astan sector and where?"
"Lothal. Are you sure you're okay kid?"
"Set a course for the Lothal sector," Doran directed, giving the Force the best 'evil eye' he could. Yes, even I got that blatantly obvious hint!
"Lothal, what's there?"
"Help…I hope," Doran relayed.
The Mandalorian super-commando studied Doran for a moment before nodding. "I'll let the Vatok know."
Doran followed the super-commando to the cockpit, vaguely listening to the super-commando repeat said instructions.
"Doesn't matter what course we set," Varok shook his head. "That last shot fried our hyperdrive. Our weapons are out and our shields are gone."
The other commando's expression became stony as he pounded the bulkhead in frustration. "Then maybe today is a good day to…"
He was cut off when a quintet of vessels dropped out of hyperspace, guns blazing. The Yuuzhan Vong fighters that had been swarming them were all shredded by a plethora of exploding warheads and laser-fire. The picketship that had been escorting the coralskippers didn't fare much better, lasting a few more seconds before the combined firepower of the five ships tore it to shreds.
"Honestly guys, what would you do without me?" The voice of their rescuer filled the cockpit. A Sacul Aerospace StarSpeeder 5000 broke formation to float in front of their battered ship.
"Tracyn!" Doran gaped.
"Tracyn Gedyc?" Both super-commandos looked to Doran in surprise.
"Yeah," Doran hit the appropriate button. "Tracyn! Thanks for saving our shebse."
"I figured I owed it to you Hairless Baby Wookie One," Tracyn's smile obvious in her voice. "You're just lucky we happened to be in the neighborhood and heard that a freighter matching the description of the one you're on blasted out of Gargon. You need a tow or can you make it to wherever it is you were going?"
"Our hyperdrive is shot," Doran shook his head. "We need to get to the Lothal Sector for some reason."
"That's a good sized jump away from here. It'll be faster if you scuttle your ship and board mine."
Doran checked with the super-commandos for approval.
"At this point, we don't really have a choice," one said. "Our ship's barely holding together as it is."
"The offer is appreciated, Tracyn. We'll even let you blow apart the ship yourself. Give you street-cred for destroying a ship belonging to the Ori'ramikade."
"I'm supposed to be allied with them now, Baby Wookie One," her amusement coming through the speakers.
"Oh, right."
"Just make sure to blow it up after we get off it," Vatok said wryly. "Friendly fire isn't."
Four of the five ships returned to hyperspace, while the last one drew alongside the battered vessel Doran was on. Doran and the occupants of the cockpit met up with a soot-covered Jintar and slightly frazzled-looking Dinua at the airlock.
"You two okay?"
"Computer blew up in my face," Dinua grumbled.
"The turret blew up in mine," Jintar added.
"K'atini," Doran remarked with a smug smirk. This caused both Dinua and Jintar to punch opposite arms
"Smart ass," Jintar grumbled.
The airlock cycled and the group of four Mandos and a budding Jedi were greeted by an RX-series pilot droid.
"Welcome aboard," the black-painted, red and gold-trimmed droid said perkily. "I'm Rexo, the co-pilot. I know this is your first time flying with me, but don't worry, it's mine too. I'm sure we'll get along splendidly. Now if you can please take your seats and make sure that the safety harnesses are secured over both your shoulders. You'll know it's secure when you hear the buckle make a clicking sound. If you have any luggage, feel free to store them in the storage compartments underneath your seats. As this is a Kyr'tsad-flagged ship, we respectfully ask that you cease any form of image recording or outbound transmissions. Nothing ruins a good flight like a rogue signal."
The five people all looked to each other in bewilderment.
"Just out of curiosity," Jintar said hesitantly. "What if we refuse to cease transmissions and image recording?"
The red optics on the droid seemed to glow menacingly. "Then I am required to provide the following warning: I am equipped with an N7 Reaper-class disintegrator as well as a ZX flame projector and will be forced to use them if you fail to comply. Any attempt to disable me will result in the detonation of the baradium warhead within my chassis. In this enclosed space it will result in the deaths of everyone on board."
"I was just curious," the bewildered Jintar held his hands up. "I'll obey your rules."
"Excellent. Now if you could all get on board and we'll be underway shortly."
"Even your Mando droid pilots are homicidal," Doran muttered under his breath to Dinua. "Who puts a disintegrator, flamethrower, and warhead into an RX droid?"
"Good subterfuge," Vatok said lightly, stowing his pack under a seat as required and strapping himself in. "No one would expect a harmless RX-droid to turn the tables in a fight."
"Never mind, I got my answer," Doran groaned, letting his head rest against the headrest of his chair. The heavily modified RX-series droid rolled its way back out of the room, ascending a ramp to the upper deck. A few seconds later, the very familiar blonde form of Tracyn Gedyc made her way down the same ramp.
"Su'cuy," Tracyn greeted brightly. Rather than her usual black armor, she was wearing the form-fitting black outfit that normally went under said armor, with a simple khaki vest and pair of boots.
"Just happened to be in the neighborhood, huh?" Vatok arched an eyebrow at the teen.
"Yup, was putting RX-002 through a test run. Wanted to make sure the combat software upgrades didn't interfere with his pilot-programming."
"'Zero-Two'? So you have more of them," Clan Onyo's Ori'ramikade said inquisitively.
"Zero-Zero-Zero and Zero-Zero-One blew up," Tracyn said impishly. "Hence the test-run. Fortunately they were the only one onboard their respective shuttles when they did blow up. Right now it's just me and Rexo on this ship."
"And you managed to get your hands on RX droids…how exactly?"
"The Ciutric Hegemony and Taris," Tracyn plopped down in one of the seats and strapped herself in. "With the Vongese taking them out last month-ish, the local branches of Star Tours ran out of business. Sold all their assets for cheap. I guess they didn't want to pay the 'droid tax' on their pilots. It's also how we got the StarSpeeders."
Said droid pilot chimed in over the intercom a few seconds later. "Stand by, we're jumping to hyperspace now! Next stop, the Lothal Sector!"
"Good to see you again, Tracyn," Doran smiled warmly.
"Feeling's mutual. Though you could have skipped the whole 'being chased by crazy aliens from another galaxy' part of the reunion."
"You Mando girls are hard to impress, had to get your attention somehow," Doran laughed.
"Gedyc," Dinua cut in with an odd note to her voice. "The Vongese knew that Wren was a Jedi. Do you know how that could be possible?"
"What? The Vongese have Wren?"
Doran looked sharply to Tracyn as he felt a spike of emotion, fear mixed with guilt at her outburst. He then turned his attention to Dinua, barely concealed anger radiating from her.
"It's why we had to flee," Dinua stared down the teen in the seat opposite of her. "Everyone who knew that Hera was a Jedi would never betray her."
Tracyn seemed to be in thought for a moment, before closing her eyes and cursing. "It had to be Vizsla."
"Overlord Vizsla?"
"Yeah, she must have felt threatened by Hera's success," Tracyn turned sorrowful blue eyes towards Doran. "With Hera's help, you successfully united the Kyr'tsad factions. Given that Hera is legitimately from the Vizsla line, Hera could have made a claim for the Overlord position."
"So Verde came up with this plan all on her own? You didn't know anything about it?" Dinua pressed, with Doran looking to her in confusion.
"Dinua, what…"
"Be quiet," Dinua snapped at him. "She and Verde planned to backstab all the other Kyr'tsad factions even if they all had a common goal. Do you really think she'd hesitate to sacrifice one more person for her Empire?"
"Dinua, you know Tracyn's not like that," Doran protested. "She doesn't just throw people away because they no longer have a use. I mean, she came with you and Jintar to Taris when I had my fit."
"Thanks, Hairless Baby Wookie One," Tracyn said gratefully, not meeting his eyes. "Jeban, I mean it when I say that I haven't talked to Vizsla in several weeks. We split our factions and are trying to keep a low profile until the war with the Vongese is over."
"She's telling the truth," Doran supplied.
"Doran, I'm…with Jeban on this," Jintar finally spoke, grimacing as he did. He shrugged apologetically to Tracyn. "Kyr'tsadika, did you have anything to do with the Vongese finding out about Hera's identity as a Jedi?"
Tracyn stared at Jintar for a very long moment, starting to shake her head, before turning the action into a nod. "'Anything'? Then I suppose, yes. I was the one who convinced Verde to bring Hera into our plan. And I was the one who went along with whatever it is that Hera proposed. In a way, you could say that her being captured is my fault."
"Tracyn," Doran protested, feeling her guilt spike. "You can't accept blame for what the Vong do. Unless you were the one to actually tell them that Hera was a Jedi, it's not your fault."
"I didn't tell them," Tracyn looked down at the deck. "But I might as well have, getting her involved like I did. I'm sorry for getting all of you involved."
Doran seeing Tracyn on the verge of tears, glared at his other friends. "Dinua, Jintar, leave her alone. She isn't lying! She came to help us! Why are you ganging up on her like that! "
Dinua and Jintar glanced at one and other, and then Jintar held up his hands. "Sorry about that…we're just a little on edge after everything."
"Yes," Dinua said stiffly, forcing herself to look away from Tracyn. "After we find some place safe to rest, I'll probably catch up on some sleep."
Doran accepted their apology and turned his attention back to the petite Mando girl sitting in the jumpseats across from him. "Tracyn…"
"I'll be okay, Baby Wookie One," Tracyn smiled weakly, swiping at the few tears that managed to escape. "I'm Kyr'tsad, you know. Nothing by a lying, backstabbing hu'tuun. You really shouldn't trust me like you do."
"You're my friend." Doran said simply.
Tracyn turned shining blue eyes towards him. "And you'll never know just how grateful I am that you are. I hope it always stays that way. No matter what."
"It will."
Tracyn bowed her head and nodded, but didn't say anything else.
Doran was about to change subjects when he felt a thought, loud and clear, escape the emotional turmoil emitting from Tracyn.
I know, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.
"Tracyn?" Doran said softly.
Tracyn looked up, and then froze in place as if realizing that Doran had heard her thoughts. She quickly unbuckled her safety harness. "I…I should go check on Rexo. Make sure he isn't piloting us into a comet or active battlefield, or something."
FtF III FtF
On the Outer Rim, Lothal was just as vulnerable to the Yuuzhan Vong as the Ciutric Hegemony or Taris. Yet, because it had been ravaged by the Empire during the Rebellion, with most of its factories also destroyed by said Rebellion during the fight for the planet, and with most of the planet glassed when the Empire realized it was about to lose the planet, it was as close to worthless to the alien invaders as a ball of space-rock. The Imperial Admiral responsible for the deaths of hundreds of millions through a terrifying application of Base-Delta-Zero, was Naomi Dargon. The massacre earned her a promotion to Moff, where she used her acumen to wreak further havoc among the Empire's enemies. She later went on to become Grand Moff of the Corellian sector, surviving for several years past the death of the Emperor. But in the end, she was out-schemed, living only to fall to Ysanne Isard's treachery.
Twenty-plus years after the Empire, the once industrial-minded world of Lothal had been reduced to a mostly agrarian planet. Capital City had borne the brunt of the fight for the planet, its size a fraction of what it had once been. Its skyline had been dramatically changed as well, with the mushroom-shaped Imperial Complex completely destroyed, the Sienar Fleet tower razed, and the large, boxy Academy for Young Imperials in ruins. The pollution caused by the Empire's presence would still take decades to clear, the lack of factories actually helping the matter. Unfortunately for those on Lothal, their economic situation was actually worse than it had been pre-Empire, and its surviving population had largely fled in search of better opportunities. Some still remained behind, however, vowing to restore the planet for future generations.
"We are entering Lothal's atmosphere now. On behalf of Kyr'tsad I would like to thank you for flying with us and I hope you enjoyed your trip. Please remain seated until the fasten safety-harness sign is deactivated and make sure your seats are in their upright positions."
"Sorry about that guys, ignore the last part. Flight-safety was part of his core programming and we couldn't exactly change it without disrupting his piloting subroutines. Was there a specific city you wanted to land at, Baby Wookie One?"
Doran reached over to tab the intercom. "The biggest one, I guess. The Force can be vague and confusing at times."
"According to the comm-traffic, Capital City is the largest settlement on the planet. Not much of a city, but it has the largest concentration of people here. We'll head there and see if your Force can't be more helpful."
"Any idea what we can expect, Doran?" Jintar asked.
"Not a clue," Doran had already stretched his senses out and found that for a supposed 'dead' world, it was resonating strongly in the Force. It was like someone had taken a Force-nexus and dispersed it throughout the whole planet. As they entered the atmosphere, he felt the Force ripple, like the surface of a lake being hit by a large pebble. It was one seismic shift of a ripple, but looking at the others, it was clear they hadn't felt a thing. He realized they were waiting for more and shrugged sheepishly. "But this planet is strong in the Force, and the Force told me to come here, and bad things have happened to people who ignored the Force."
"Wonderful," Dinua deadpanned. She gazed about the cabin. "I hope Gedyc has an armory aboard this vessel."
"I do," Tracyn answered, climbing back down into the cabin of the freighter/transport. She walked over to a wall and pressed a button. The wall spun around to reveal a rack of gleaming blades, blasters, and explosives. "Never leave home without them."
Doran just sighed and walked over to the display, picking up one of the smaller blasters. The other Mandalorians armed themselves with more death-inducing armaments and returned to their seats. "For the record, I don't think we'll need to use them."
"We're Mandalorians, we like to overcompensate for our lack of brains," Vatok answered with a smirk.
"Giving brainless people things that make other people go boom doesn't seem like the best of ideas," Doran pointed out.
"Careful," Vatok playfully manipulated a throwing knife across his fingers. "We brainless people are easily offended."
"You all might want to put something on other than Ori'ramikade training rags," Tracyn remarked with a smile. She pressed another button and a locker opened; this one with sets of clothing of various styles and sizes.
"And you just had all this ready for us?"
"Hey, we Kyr'tsad need to go on undercover missions too," Tracyn protested.
After a couple of minutes of dressing—with Jintar taking an olive-green top and gray pants, Doran taking a garish orange construction-worker jumpsuit with a brown vest, and Dinua taking a pair of welding goggles and a gray set of top and pants, covered by a brown and orange construction-worker coveralls—the group was more or less ready.
"Not exactly stylish," Jintar smirked at Dinua and Doran.
"Yeah, well, nothing else fit me," Doran protested. "You found that outfit before I did."
"Complain, complain, complain. What's your excuse, Jeban?"
"Didn't want the Di'kut to be the only ugly standout on the planet," Dinua said dryly.
"Thanks a lot," Doran matched her tone.
"We'll stay with the ship," Clan Onyo's Ori'ramikad gestured as the ship touched down. "We don't exactly blend in with a crowd of impoverish farmers."
Eyeing their muscular forms and obvious soldier auras they were emitting, Tracyn smiled and nodded. "Good idea. Remember, don't mess with Rexo though, he might blow up."
The group of four teens exited the StarSpeeder, and their nose immediately wrinkled at the smell that assaulted them. Stale, smoky air mixed with various scents common to an enclosed hangar bay washed over them. The primary problem was that the landing site wasn't even enclosed. In fact, the entire 'spaceport' consisted of one three-story building surrounded by a plethora of open-air landing pads. There were two large buildings that looked to be made of plastisteel acting as 'hangars,' and one 'control tower' a little off to the side. But for a once industrial world, the set up was more like something found on a back-backwater planet.
"Welcome to Lothal," a cheery voice called out. A dark-skinned human wearing a breathing mask, carrying a tray of even more breathing masks, waved at them. "For just thirty credits each, you can have your very own, Lothal-made breath-masks. Keeps all those nasty particulate matters from getting into your lungs and ruining your day."
"Is the air quality on this whole planet that bad?" Tracyn asked, covering her mouth with the front of her shirt and forking over enough credits so that everyone could have a breath mask.
"We just had a windstorm sweep through the area," the merchant shook his head. "When the Imps took over, they reduced the nearby mountain range to rubble, so now the southern winds occasionally cause quite a bit of trouble. Does wonders for the local breath-mask economy though."
"I'll bet," Doran agreed, breathing deeply once the mask was over his face.
"Governor Syndulla is trying to scrounge up enough credits and labor to create an artificial barrier," the merchant volunteered with a friendly smile. "I can see you're off-worlders. Lothal always welcomes foreign investors. We may not look like much now, but I can promise that when we get back onto our feet, you'll be repaid many times over."
"Governor Syndulla?" Doran repeated curiously, realizing that both Jintar and Dinua were content to let him talk.
"Great woman," the merchant said. "Was this big hero during the days of the Rebellion, settled here after the war was over."
"Sounds great too. Say, you wouldn't happen to know where the Wren family lives, would you?"
The moment Doran asked the question, the merchant's friendly demeanor became forced. "Don't recognize the name, but then again, Lothal is a big planet. You might want to try some of the settlements in the south."
"Will do," Doran said quickly, sensing that all three of his Mandalorian friends were about to speak up. "But since my friends and I are here, you mentioned something about investment opportunities? Who do we go to talk to about that?"
"Oh, you'd want to go to Minister Vizago or Minister Azmorigan," the merchant's cheer returned. "They run what passes for the treasury department around here. You'll find them in Townhall smack in the center of town. Can't miss it, it's the only building still over ten stories tall still standing."
"Thanks, and thanks for the breath masks," Doran returned the man's enthusiastic smile.
"Not a problem, enjoy your stay on Lothal."
"He was lying," Dinua said darkly once they were a good distance away.
"Mom always taught me that if you want to make friends, you don't point blasters at them," Doran deadpanned.
"Really? So that's what we Mandos have been doing wrong then," Jintar matched Doran's tone. "No wonder why nobody in the galaxy wants to be our friend."
"Ha ha," Doran retorted as they walked through the very empty streets. "People here are already suspicious of outsiders who voluntarily come to this shell of a place. I mean, the last outsiders that took an interest reduced it to…well, look around you."
Another flurry of wind brought with it dust and other particles, and Dinua calmly pulled her goggles over her eyes.
"We should have thought of that," Jintar said, wincing and shielding his eyes the best he could with his hand.
Doran took note of the vacant nature of the streets. "I guess the locals know better than to walk out in the middle of a dust storm. Good thing Tracyn got us these masks."
"Maybe someone is selling goggles too," Tracyn said hopefully, squinting as the pushed onward.
Fortunately, the wind died down again, leaving the quartet covered in a layer of dust. They brushed themselves off with a grimace, scanning the city for the center of town. It wasn't that hard to find. The merchant hadn't been kidding when he said it was the only tall building still standing. Looking as if it had once been an Imperial pre-fab structure, the sleek gray and black rectangular building definitely stood out amid the ramshackle houses that surrounded it.
"I guess we go there," Tracyn noted.
"Before another gust of wind turns us into walking sticks of charcoal," Jintar agreed.
They made their way through the town and were than a little unnerved by the vacant, almost abandoned feel of what had once been the pride and joy of Lothal. Every street was empty, no laughter of children or sound of vendors hawking their wares, no whine of speeder engines or noise of traffic. The few people they did see were wrapped in layers of cloth, wearing goggles and breath-masks as they went about their business.
"Is it just me, or are we walking through a ghost town?" Jintar said uneasily as they bypassed a massive crater between several blocks of two-story buildings.
"Many lives were lost here, their pain leaves behind phantoms of who they once were," Doran breathed out into his breath mask. His eyes fluttered close as he reached out with the Force. "The people never had a chance. Screams, panic as green death poured down from above. No relief. Regret for rebelling, prayers for mercy going unanswered. Whole blocks vanishing, turned to ash. Like candles, they were snuffed out one by one."
"Di'kut. Doran!"
Doran's eyes snapped back open, tears tracking through the soot that had adhered to his face. The stones and debris around him had been levitating in his distress, and they promptly plopped back down to the ground. He took a shuddering breath, and then another, trying to calm himself.
"I know. Everything went wrong," a voice from a nearby alley said, regret surrounding every word. "We had underestimated the Empire's cruelty."
The group turned, the Mandalorians all raising blasters in alarm. Emerging from the shadows of the alley was a middle-aged man in his forties, indigo-colored hair tied back in a pony-tail, with a matching colored beard. He was dressed in a simple farmer's garb, a wide-brimmed hat covering his head and hiding most of his face from view. He kept his hands out in a disarming gesture, his stance not showing an ounce of fear despite the weaponry pointed at him.
"Who are you?" Dinua didn't lower her blaster.
The man stepped out into the man street, and the group could see that most of his face had been badly disfigured by burns long healed. But it was his eyes though that caused the young group to shift uncomfortably. The man had the eyes of someone who had seen too much. "Just a local farmer. Leonis said you were looking for the Wren family."
"Leonis?"
"Jai Leonis. The merchant you brought your masks from," the man supplied. "He got word to me. I'm making a supply run down to their farmstead. Thought you might like to tag along."
"You know the family well?" Doran asked, gesturing for the others to lower their weapons.
"Fought alongside Hera Syndulla and Sabine Wren for this planet," the man led them to a large cargo skiff. "We were outgunned from the start, but we thought that if we could take the surface and show the Empire that they were no longer wanted, they'd just leave. Should have taken into account the homicidal maniacs they had in their employ."
"What happened?" Tracyn asked, her blue eye shining with sympathy as her red one pulsed softly.
"We took the planet," the war-weary man said softly, his eyes growing distant. "Captured Governor Pryce and the garrison on the surface. Holo-ed Moff Dargon and offered her her people back in exchange for the Empire leaving Lothal for good. Even had the city shield up to protect ourselves. I still remember her response, 'Well, Rebels, if you want the planet so badly, you can have it.' She then ordered her fleet to fire on the planet, to fire on the fault-lines. A massive earthquake took out the power, and without power, the shield died. I got these burns as we tried to escape the Imperial Complex. Everyone who survived that day has a scar or two of their own, and those were the lucky ones. She flash-fried the oceans, blew apart whole mountain ranges. Her ships continued firing on the planet for three whole days. When it was over, Lothal, what was left of it, was freed from Imperial occupation."
As if emphasizing the story, the bare landscape of the ravaged world continued to fly by. Whole swaths of ground gleamed brightly from superheated energy glassing the ground black. The brown-hued sky and black clouds only added to the reminder of the brutality the people of Lothal had faced. The group of teens—the Mandalorians sitting in the back cargo portion of the skiff and Doran in the passenger's seat—were silent, lost in thought, sobered by the story.
It was Doran who spoke first, his words startling his friends. "Your daughter's in trouble, Ezra Bridger."
"I know, the Loth wolves told me," Ezra replied, not denying the name Doran had used. "They also told me that you would be coming."
"Loth wolves wouldn't happen to be giant, Force-using wolves that appear out of mirrors, would they?" Doran groaned when Ezra just chuckled. "I definitely got the invitation."
"Wait a minute, he's Commander Wren's dad?" Jintar interrupted.
"What giant, Force-using wolves?" Dinua asked in bewilderment.
"How did wolves invite you to this planet?" Tracyn said at the same time as the others.
"Yes, they exist, they pounded the message into my brain," Doran answered over his shoulder.
"Sorry about that, they aren't exactly subtle."
"No kidding."
"If he's Commander Wren's dad, does that mean he's a Jedi too?" Tracyn asked over the stale wind howling by them.
"Don't call me that!" Ezra snapped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so harsh. But I'm no Jedi. I don't deserve that title at all, not after what happened to my homeworld. My master always told me that Jedi are meant to protect people, not get them all killed."
"Your master?" Doran tilted his head.
"Caleb Dume," Ezra kept his gaze straight forward as his face became neutral. "Sacrificed a lot to help us escape the Imperial Complex when we screwed up the freeing of this planet. He passed away when my daughter was seven, his body just couldn't keep him going."
"I'm sorry."
"I am too," Ezra breathed out. He then forced a smile onto his face. "You, I expected. I guess I should have expected the Mandos as well."
"They seem to think I'm hopeless without them," Doran sighed dramatically, trying to lighten the mood. "But they're handy to have around in a pinch."
"Not to interrupt, but we're going north. I thought your family was to the south," Tracyn called out.
Ezra began to count on one, burn-scarred hand. "In the past two and a half decades, I've had to keep on guard for Inquisitors, Kyr'tsad, deranged Force-users, Imperial fleets, and other Jedi. No way am I going to make it easy for them to find my family."
"Your wife, two sons, and Hera," Jintar clarified.
"Ephraim and Aran can take care of themselves, so can Hera. And Sabine will brain me with a paint can if I try to take care of her," Ezra shook his head. "It's everyone else I'm looking out for. You'll see what I mean when we get to my homestead."
The trip took another hour across the flat, barren surface of the planet. Everywhere they went Doran could feel the residual pain and suffering suffusing the very essence of the planet.
Ezra cast a sidelong glance at him. "It's like the very planet is hurting, isn't it?"
"Exactly like that," Doran's head whipped around. "How do you even manage to deal with something like that?"
"By doing my best to ease that pain a little at a time," Ezra responded, turning away again. "It's why the crew of the Ghost settled here after the Death Star was blown. An atonement of sorts. We let the people of this planet down. We're responsible for patching this planet up again."
"And Hera…the Mando Hera, and her brothers?"
"Ephraim, Little Zeb to his friends and sister, runs a supply convoy to keep the planet viable," Ezra answered back. "He spends most of his time off world. You've met Aran, he runs interference with any of the pirate groups that try to take advantage of the people of Lothal. And Hera, well, you know her. She wanted to start training a militia from the moment she read about the Cuy'val Dar in the historicrons. Which, by the way, was when she was six. It's why she went to Mando space to learn about what it means to be a Mandalorian."
"This planet…it feels different than most of the worlds I've been on," Doran said hesitantly.
"It's very strong with the Force," Ezra said with an enigmatic smirk. "Again, you'll see what I mean when we reach the farmstead."
"I'm starting to get really curious about this farmstead," Tracyn voiced. "Any hints?"
"Where would the fun be in spoiling it?" Ezra chuckled softly. "You'd be Tracyn Gedyc by the way, am I right? The reformed leader of one of the Death Watch factions?"
"What? How?"
"Hera's talked a lot about you all in her calls home," Ezra smiled lopsidedly. "Told me about all the fun times you get into."
"I hope she didn't tell you about all the fun times," Jintar said sheepishly.
"I'm sure she leaves plenty out. I just wanted to thank you all for being her friend. She sees embracing her Mandalorian side as an abandonment of her family, of me, and I know it eats at her. The fact that she has a home away from home has really helped her out."
"How did you react when she said she was going to follow the Resol'nare?" Dinua asked, cocking her to the side.
"I wasn't that shocked. Hera looks like her mother a lot, has a lot of her mother's personality too. As much as I would have loved to have her learn the ways of the Force, we all have to follow our own path."
"And the fact that Clan Vizsla wanted her and her mom dead?" Tracyn asked tonelessly. Doran gazed over his shoulder to look at her, but he couldn't get a reading off of her one way or another. "Sending her away from this planet is practically inviting Vizsla to target her."
"What happens, happens for a reason," Ezra answered the young leader of the rebel Mandalorian faction. "No matter what has happened or will happen, the only thing we control is how we react."
"Great, more Jedi mystic-talk," Dinua groaned aloud.
"What did you expect? That's what we specialize in," Doran piped up.
"How long is this journey again?" Dinua sighed. "Because I don't think my brain can take any more Jedi-mystic talk."
"Don't worry, we're close to the dropping-off point," Ezra grinned mischievously over his shoulder.
Doran felt the changes in the Force around them and his jaw dropped. "What…"
Ezra put a finger to his lips. "I'll try to keep the rest of you awake, but not having the Force might knock you out for a bit."
"Knock us out?" Dinua said suspiciously, eyes darting to a wide-eyed Doran. "Doran are…"
"We'll be okay," Doran answered carefully. "Just…well, look on the bright side, we Jedi won't be talking about mystic stuff."
"Then wha…wait, we're sinking into the ground!" Tracyn's eyes bulged, jerking herself closer to the center of the cargo pad as the ground continued to grow ever closer.
"Wolves!?" Jintar gasped, as hulking, speeder-sized creatures suddenly appeared running alongside them.
"Where'd they come from?" Dinua blurted.
"Never mind that, we're still sinking into the ground!" Tracyn yelled as the side of the skiff seemed to disappear into the ground.
For his part, Doran was marveling at the swirling waves of Force energy. In all his travels he had never experienced something like this…not that he knew what 'this' was in the first place. It was like a bubble of Force energy was wrapping around the cargo skiff, distorting the Force outside of it. And then Doran's vision went crazy as the world flattened out around him. His head spun and he reflexively gripped the front of the speeder, or at least tried to. His mind couldn't comprehend what was happening. As he reached out, his hands appeared somewhere behind him, and he knew it without even turning around. It was as if two ends of a cosmic string were being forced together by the sheer will of the Force and he was looking at the world through a carnival mirror.
And then all at once it was over. The speeder emerged back out onto the desolate flatlands of Lothal, but with one major difference. Doran didn't even have to have the Force to know that they were on a completely different part of the planet. For one, the sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon and the surrounding bleakness looked completely different. For two, there were towering cliff-sides radiating with Force energy directly in front of them. Something he was absolutely certain hadn't been there before.
The sudden transport finally caught up to his brain, the disorientation twisting his head and stomach at the same time. Doran stumbled out of the speeder and promptly threw up what little there was in his stomach. After one last dry heave, he looked up to check on his friends. Both Jintar and Tracyn were completely unconscious, sprawled across the supplies on the back of the cargo skiff. To his surprise, however, Dinua was still awake, looking just as ill as he felt. Like him, she had stumbled off the skiff and lost her own meal. He reflexively reached out with the Force to soothe her and blinked wildly as he heard her thoughts and emotions. He could almost hear her determination to remaining conscious to protect him, to ensure that he remained unharmed. Unfortunately her body wouldn't obey her wishes, and after throwing up, the Mandalorian teen collapsed, fighting to stay conscious.
Doran used the Force to restore himself and quickly made his way to her side. "Dinua, it's okay."
He felt Ezra step up behind him, the older Jedi kneeling and placing a hand on Dinua's head. "She's definitely a Mandalorian. That's one powerful will she has."
"Will she be okay?"
"It probably would have been better if she had let the trip knock her out. The fact that she was able to stay conscious tells you just how strong she is. Just give her brain a moment to reset," Ezra explained, rising from his examination. "Probably doesn't help that I was never able to master the Force Portal technique like the Loth Wolves. They can normally do it without any ill-effects. But then again, they can normally do things that wouldn't be considered normal, even by those who can use the Force."
Dinua's eyes snapped back open, her hand going for her blaster.
"Easy," Doran said quickly.
"Di'kut?" He could see the Mandalorian teen evaluating the situation.
"Jedi mystical stuff," Doran supplied in explanation. "Take it easy.
Dinua slowly rose to a seated position with Doran's help, sharp brown eyes picking out the niches carved all along the cliffs before them. She exhaled and just sagged back into Doran. "Have I mentioned how I hate your Force?"
"More than a few times," Doran remarked glibly.
"Gedyc and Skirata?"
"Still out cold. Ezra said it probably would have been easier on you if you let yourself get knocked out too."
"You're a Di'kut," Dinua lightly elbowed him, and then used him to help herself stand. "If the three of us were knocked out, who knows what crazy trouble you'd find yourself in."
"How did you manage to stay conscious?" Doran said after a few seconds. "I had to use the Force to shield myself from that trip."
"Detached myself from reality," Dinua answered, sounding slightly reserved. "Like I did in Rook's base."
Doran swallowed heavily. "I'm…ouch! What was that for?"
"Go use your mystic hand-waving to wake up Skirata and Gedyc," Dinua said pointedly.
Doran caught her change of subject and went with it, allowing Dinua to do a mental reset. "Going to gloat how a measly mystic energy made them pass out but not you?"
"Of course," Dinua grinned back at him.
Ezra watched the entire exchange with a small, sad smile. Doran caught the unguarded emotions and looked to the older Force-user questioningly. Ezra just shook his own head and gestured back to the cargo skiff. Doran inclined his head and went on to wake up his friends.
"I don't see any farmsteads," Dinua said to Ezra. "I only see those cliffs."
"You seem to think little of the Force," Ezra said in turn. "Why is that?"
"It's not so much the Force as the people that use it," Dinua shrugged, her eyes following Doran. "Of course there are a few exceptions, but Jedi, dark Jedi, all they do with their power is make the galaxy worse off. Strip the Force from them and they'd just be contemptible despots and oligarchs, no different than the very people they depose."
"And the few exceptions?" Ezra asked neutrally, the young Mandalorian's feelings for Doran not at all hidden.
Dinua, as if realizing that Ezra was reading her, looked sharply at him. His own eyebrows rose ever so slightly as the open book she had been suddenly became a fortified vault. The only emotions coming from her were as neutral as a computer processor. "Why does it matter?"
"In ten, twenty years, when he joins the ranks of the other Jedi changing this galaxy, will he still be a friend to you?" Ezra asked evenly. "Or will you have grouped him with all the other Force users, the despots and oligarchs?"
Dinua's brown eyes flashed, the only sign of emotion. "That will never be Doran."
"Try to remember that."
"Wow, where are we?" Jintar's voice ended the conversation before Dinua could ask why.
"Close to my home," Ezra answered as the other rejoined them. He pointed to one of the caves in the cliffs. "It's right through there."
"How far did we travel?" Tracyn said in disbelief.
"A thousand plus kilometers," Ezra said. "Give or take. I never actually measured the distance."
"How?" Jintar said blankly, looking to Doran.
"The Force," Doran shrugged.
Jintar stared at the towering cliffs, then back to Doran. "You know, I get the feeling we should just use that answer for all our questions here."
"Safe bet," Doran laughed. "You three now get to see my side of the galaxy."
"Oh boy."
"Too late to pass?" Jintar added. "Scout, Kina Ha, and Jusik are all the Force I need in my life. "
"If we let him go alone…" Dinua trailed off pointedly.
"She has a point," Tracyn sighed.
"Yeah."
"Great, you three just formed your first Mandalorian comedy troupe," Doran returned with a glare.
"Just a word of warning," Ezra interrupted.
"Huh?"
"I don't exactly have full control of the…farmstead. It likes to test new visitors."
"What do you mean? And I swear if you say 'you'll see' again I'm going to glare ineffectually at you," Jintar drawled.
Ezra's burned face twisted into a wry smile. "You'll see."
FtF Chapter End FtF
A\N: And so begins the 'Hera Wren' arc of this story. Hope you enjoyed the start of another wild, five-chapter ride. I'm planning to have one last story arc (Doran's finale arc) after this, but might make it seven chapters instead of five…we'll see.
As you may have noticed, my version of the SW Rebels universe doesn't exactly follow canon. That's what happens when you have Jedi who meddle with time. In 'Fish' canon, the Specters more or less follow their season one and two arcs, but things begin to diverge at the end of Season Two. Echu Shen-Jon, not Ahsoka, becomes their 'Jedi of the past', and while Thrawn is busy doing is SW Legends-verse stuff, a nasty piece of work called Naomi Dargon (a canon character) turns the 'Rebels' storyline into something less kid-friendly. You'll learn the fates of Phoenix Squadron , Iron Squadron, and a few of their allies in the next chapter, due up next week.